


Peter Hale Gets A Job

by Arabwel, CaliHart, dust_ice_fire, goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artist Chris Argent, M/M, Model Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliHart/pseuds/CaliHart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/dust_ice_fire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter pauses. His pen hovers over the final ad on the page: ‘Beacon Hills Art School requires the services of a male model for a series of evening classes surrounding the unclothed form. Hourly pay $40.’ Peter taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. Well, he’s certainly got the body for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter Hale Gets A Job

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result of a round robin that some of the Petopher fandom put together to counteract recent negativity. Enjoy!

Three weeks after being robbed, they’re no closer to getting their money back, and although Derek apparently doesn’t mind living like a beggar, Peter most _certainly_ does.

He’s not looking forward to it, but Peter Hale has always done what needed to be done when push comes to shove, and it looks like he needs to figure out how to bring money in. So he grits his teeth, and goes to get a newspaper and a coffee, and settles at an outdoor cafe table to look through the want ads.

The first several ads he sees are immediately discarded, because he is not desperate enough to work as a janitor or plumber, and he doesn’t have the experience for it anyway. He uses a pen to cross them out as he goes, frowning as the available options quickly dwindle.

He’s crossed off anything having to do with schools but has hesitantly left the construction jobs there. He hates the thought of doing menial labor but the pay is better than some of the others. He sips his coffee, shakes his head, and keeps looking.

Perhaps door-to-door salesmanship could be his calling? Peter hums to himself and pens a question mark on the top corner of the ad. He’s charming, handsome and utterly ruthless; all valuable traits for a businessman. Although…

Peter pauses. His pen hovers over the final ad on the page: ‘Beacon Hills Art School requires the services of a male model for a series of evening classes surrounding the unclothed form. Hourly pay $40.’ Peter taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. Well, he’s certainly got the body for it.

Forty dollars an hour is a decent pay, as well, and Peter’s always been one to soak up attention; his unclothed form would certainly impress in a room full of art students desperate for something decent to draw. The classes don’t run indefinitely, but they’d be a good temporary solution and Peter doesn’t exactly plan on needing a job for very long; if the ridiculously expensive mercenary doesn’t have results soon, Peter’s going to take matters entirely into his own hands.

Derek can solve the mystery of his eyes on his own damn time. So - nude modeling. He can certainly deal with that for a few weeks, and he pulls out his phone to dial the number the ad quotes at him.

“Beacon Hills Art School.”

“Afternoon. I'm calling in regards to the ad for male models?”

“Oh good, can you start tonight?”

Peter's taken aback a moment and then shrugs. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Excellent. I'm required to inform you that this will be _fully_ nude modeling. And also, that there will be a public exhibition of the student's work once this section of the curriculum is concluded.”

"That’s alright with me." He pauses to circle the ad in the paper. "Is there some way that I should prepare, or…?"

"As long as you’re cleaned up, you can come as you are. It doesn’t matter what you wear, and shaving is up to you." Peter nods and copies down the location of the meeting place when it’s given to him. "Is there anything else that I should know before I get there?"

"You should inform us of any allergies you may have to oil-based products."

A werewolf with allergies. Ha, Peter thinks. Then his brain stutters for a moment. “Wait. Oil-based products? You mean-?”

"You will be required to cover your body in oil. We are attempting to capture the vitality and beauty of the human body and the oil will capture the light perfectly, a real life chiaroscuro effect, if you will."

"I… look forward to it," Peter says, keeping the edge of horror in his tone to a minimum. "I’ll see you this evening."

Peter puts the phone down with a heavy sigh and reassures himself that at least he won’t be oiled-up and naked in front of anyone he actually knows. Scott McCall’s band of idiots are too young to attend an evening art class and gorgeous Melissa McCall doesn’t strike him as the artistic type.

He finishes his coffee and leaves a good tip - he may delight in petty cruelty but he is not a barbarian - before heading back to his apartment.

He still has plenty of time before he needs to be at the school, and although he has no intention to shave, well, anything, he still plans on being prepared.

For one, he is _not_ going to risk getting body oil on a decent pair of jeans since he's now on a budget. _What a nightmare._

Two hours later and he's gone through his wardrobe twice, unwilling to subject any of his designer things to the oiling process. Peter is considering stealing something of Derek's when he spies a backpack in the front closet, and opens it to see a jumbled mess of clothing, along with three first aid kits and at least fifty dollars worth of batteries.

Shrugging, he digs through and tugs out a pair of sweat pants that are roughly his size, though a little long in the leg, and a soft, obviously well-worn henley. Not his usual attire, but sometimes sacrifices need to be made.

-

That evening, Peter makes sure to show up a few minutes before the designated time. He can’t be the only one who responded to the ad, and he doesn’t want to give them any reason to replace him. It occurs to him that maybe he should hope he won’t be modeling with anyone, but it shouldn’t hurt if he is, as long as he still gets paid. He takes the time to look around the school for a bit while he waits and double checks the cut out ad in his pocket to make sure he’s in the right place.

"You must be one of our models for tonight," says a female voice from behind.

Peter summons his most charming smile and turns to greet the speaker. He introduces himself as he’s ushered through into a large room with easels mounted in a circle, all facing a single wooden stool. There’s a small pot of body oil waiting on the floor.

"We’re expecting a few models tonight," the woman explains, "but I think we’ll take you first."

She glances down at Peter’s chest where his tight henley outlines his pectorals. "Yes… you’ll do nicely. Now if you’d just get yourself oiled up and ready, our artists will be arriving soon."

Peter’s smile doesn’t waver as he begins to strip. He is unconcerned by nudity, it goes with the territory for a born wolf, but the pot of oil gets a dubious eye from him.

 _It could be worse_ , he thinks when he folds the henley; they could be fingerpainting him.

The sweats follow and the Peter is standing next to the chair without a shred of clothing.

He picks up the oil, pleasantly surprised to find out that some considerate soul had warmed it up. It's clear and unscented, something he's grateful for when he dips his fingers into the pot.

Starting at the dips of his clavicles, he begins to spread the oil with quick, smooth motions. Droplets stick and glisten on his chest hair, making him glad he elected not to shave.

A shiver passes through him when he runs a wet thumb over his nipple, but he knows he has to behave. He is on the job, after all.

Regretfully, his touch over his abs and down to his treasure trail is both firmer and more professional, his fingers dipping back into the pot before he slides his thumbs over the dips of his hip bones.

He might need help with his back, he realizes as he moves a hand over his shoulder. Being a werewolf grants him super-strength, not super-flexibility, and he wants this to be _perfect_.

Peter’s twisting slightly to see how far he can actually reach, when a familiar scent assaults his nostrils, and he whips back around to come face to face with Chris Argent.

For once in his life, Peter has no idea what to say, just _stares_ at the hunter. Chris’ lips twitch, holding back a smirk as he reaches for the oil.

"You missed a spot," he says softly, and steps around the werewolf, fingers dipping in the pot, then making smooth, confident strokes across the younger man’s back.

Peter stays quiet while the hunter’s fingers move over his skin, staring unseeingly at the far wall while he gathers his wits. Either Chris is here to be another model, or he’s part of the class.

Peter can’t imagine him modeling which means the wolf is going to be sitting nude in front of _Chris Argent_ for an indeterminate amount of time while being stared at.

"Keep it professional, Argent," he says as the hand on his back trails lower than could be considered decent. "I don’t know how long I’m going to be sitting here."

Peter glances back with a smirk as he says it.

This isn’t the first time they’ve verbally sparred. It’s been going on for months now: a mixture of cutting remarks and sly taunting, with a noticeable undercurrent of flirtation.

Peter’s not yet sure if Argent’s motives are tactical or lust-based, and right now - as Chris’ hands slide lower to cup Peter’s ass - Peter is having trouble reasoning altogether.

"You’ll just have to control yourself," Chris murmurs into his ear, as the hunter’s palms tighten around his ass cheeks and work the oil into his skin in a slow, circular movement.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a moan, eyelids fluttering closed. He is about to say something back, something that _does not_ involve spreading his legs and pushing back into the hunter’s grip when there’s a noise, the door banging open loudly as the artists start to arrive.

Glad of the unexpected reprieve, Peter steps forward, the cool air against his glistening ass sending a shiver up his spine. He mourns the loss of contact, the warmth spreading on his skin that had nothing to do with the oil for a split second before he turns to look over his shoulder, a smirk on his face.

Chris’s pupils are blown, the only sign that Peter’s not the only one out of equilibrium here.

He lifts a hand in acknowledgment as the instructor introduces him by name to the group of students before allowing himself to be directed into position.

“We’ll get you to do a few different poses,” she tells him, dragging a chair over to the middle of the room, right across from where the art students are currently waiting. He sits obediently and she smiles at him.

“If you could just look to your right, and rest your elbow on your knee, there- yes, perfect,” she says cheerfully, stepping back.

 _This…isn’t too bad._ Peter’s gaze is focused away from the students (from Christopher) and this is a pose that won’t be difficult to hold.

He’s mildly uncomfortable sitting there in oil, but he’s refusing to listen to the part of him that is edging towards panic because oil catches fire really, really easily and Peter doesn’t want to have to deal with those kinds of thoughts right now.

The instructor is murmuring to the class but Peter’s not listening to her - it’s occurring to him as every second passes that, actually, it’s kind of hard to not be looking at the students. He can feel their gazes prickling at his skin and there is an almost overwhelming temptation to look around and gauge a certain someone’s reaction to this whole thing.

Peter's grateful for the extra strength granted with being a born wolf, as he keeps holding position for what seems like forever. At last, when the teacher comes to move him, he can glance around, totally nonchalantly, of course.

None of the students are looking at Peter as he moves to her specifications, which makes him feel oddly affronted. That is, until he meets Chris' gaze.

Argent isn't drawing or even listening to the teacher. That diamond blue pair of eyes is locked firmly on Peter, and when their eyes meet, Chris tilts his head slightly, lips quirking. And then that gaze slides slowly along Peter's body, taking in every detail, and the wolf hears the older man's previous words ringing in his ears. _You'll just have to control yourself._

Peter has to look away and take a few deep breaths to keep that control.

He does take the chance to stretch while he can, subtly showing himself off because he knows Chris is watching. He has been getting a little cold sitting there naked for so long, but the knowledge of that gaze on him is enough to warm him back up.

He shakes out his limbs and then settles into the new position, and this time he’s angled so that he can see some of the students. Chris is sitting just inside his range of vision and Peter has to resist staring back at him.

Posed like this, with his foot up on the chair and his back curved, displaying the breadth of his shoulders, Peter knows he makes quite a sight. He also knows any.. loss of control on his part would not be easily noticed, not by all the artists gripping their pens and poking out their tongues in concentration.

He is vain enough to hope they have the talent to adequately capture him; after all, it would be unacceptable if the works on display would be recognizable but unflattering.

Sweat is now starting to bead on his forehead; the studio seems suddenly too warm, warmer than a werewolf needs, but a human in his place would be getting quite chilly. He can feel a rivulet sneaking down his back, to the dip right above his ass tickling in a way that is not entirely unpleasant.

Peter shifts his gaze ever so slightly to see Chris, but the hunter isn't looking at him anymore, he's sketching without ever glancing up once.

Peter wonders why the older man is here, it seems so odd and out of place.

His attention is distracted away by the teacher who comes to offer him a bottle of cold water and a towel. Peter nods gratefully, listening as she starts to describe the last pose to him, and then nods. “The Discobolus.”

She blinks a moment and then smiles, stepping him back and letting him wipe his face before he stretches and moves himself, twisting his body and lifting his arm in the air.

His face is turned so that he can see the entire class, can see Chris studying him long after the others have put pencil to paper, so intently that he feels as if the older man can see into his soul. It's not entirely unpleasant.

It takes a long, long time for Chris to make his perusal, but once he's done, he doesn't look back up again.

This final pose is even harder to hold than the others, which may be why it’s the last one, though it could also just be Peter getting tired. He doesn’t quite know how long he’s been there, unable to look around the room for a clock, but it surely must be getting close to an hour now.

The ache in his muscles from staying still will fade quickly after he’s done, and he imagines it must be worse for the human models.

Peter is starting to look forward to taking a shower, idly watching Chris who still hasn’t looked at him, consumed as he is with whatever he’s drawing.

Chris is no stranger to the room or the activity, Peter realizes, and it makes him wonder just how long it’s been going on, whether it started before or after Victoria, exactly how many naked people he’s drawn before Peter. It shouldn’t bother him but for some reason it does, niggling at the back of his mind like a persistent fly that he can’t swat away.

Finally, the teacher calls a halt and Peter is able to lower his arm, to straighten his back. His spine cracks satisfyingly as he stretches, raising to tip toe for a moment.

The teacher is smiling at him, gushing with gratefulness and praising him, saying how he is absolutely welcome back and could he maybe do some modeling for her artist friend. Peter mostly tunes her out, smiles and nods, until she reaches over to hand him a robe. It’s threadbare but clean, and she informs him there are showers in the changing room just down the hall.

_Well, now._

Peter thanks her and wraps the robe around himself, bending over to gather his discarded clothing. He glances over his shoulder, to where Chris is looking at him, and he can see the remains of snapped pencils down on the floor.

He is certain that more than that burning gaze is going to follow him.

Peter's proven right when the hunter silently slips into the stall behind him before he can even take his robe off.

Chris steps right up behind him, presses himself against Peter's back fully clothed, lowers his mouth to the wolf's ear to speak, soft and deep. “If you needed money, you should have come to me.”

The werewolf would probably say something sarcastic to that, but the front of the robe is falling open, and there's a leather glove covered hand sliding down along his chest. He can't help but shift faintly when slick leather glides across a nipple, and Chris' dark chuckle tells Peter that he noticed.

“I have plenty of...work...you could do for me.” Chris continues talking as the gloved hand moves lower, coating itself with the oil covering the wolf's body.

Peter doesn't respond, just makes a tiny strangled noise as Chris' hand wraps tightly around him, that voice in his ear telling Peter _all_ the things he could do for the older man.

It's not long before the wolf is spilling over that black leather, leaning back into Chris as he does so, baring his neck unconsciously.

Chris bites into it viciously, ignoring the taste of leftover oil, and worries at Peter's skin through the aftershocks. Peter takes a deep breath as the hunter disengages, and he lowers himself to the nearby bench to recover.

When he looks up, Chris is gone.

Peter leans his head back against the shower wall and closes his eyes. He thinks about what Chris had said to him, and he thinks _maybe_ he'll take the older man up on his offer.

He does need the money after all.

 


End file.
